


Gorbachev’s right-hand man

by elenatria



Series: Valoris [3]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Fingering, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Seduction, Sharing a Bed, Virgin Valery, based on real Chernobyl facts, blowjob, handjob, nudist Boris, true story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-25 00:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21108170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria
Summary: Fact: "The Chernobyl Commission had to retreat from Pripyat to the town of Chernobyl because the radiation levels at Pripyat had become lethal shortly after the evacuation. They all piled into a two-story house. The scientists from the Kurchatov Institute that were aiding Valery Legasov but were not a part of the official commission were on the bottom floor and the higher ups who were a part of the actual official Commission and Shcherbina himself was on the second floor. And there weren’t enough beds for them all - they had to share and work out arrangements where they switched with someone who worked on a different shift than them."Prompt: Valoris are in bed together. They both assumed that the other is already falling asleep. Boris is still thinking about Valery while Valery is jerking off.





	Gorbachev’s right-hand man

“Which side, left or right?”

Valery Legasov didn’t register the question right away.

Once again he had chosen nicotine over sleep as more and more bad news poured in: the unstoppable fire that had been burning for five days already and was spreading its poison for miles and miles, the lies they had to tell the firefighters’ wives to get rid of them for a couple of hours just so that they could fly their husbands off to Moscow’s hospital number six, evacuees sneaking back to Pripyat to steal their own belongings under the police’s noses, sometimes even their doors to carry their dead daughters on – it was all too much, too overwhelming.

It would be an understatement to say he didn’t sign up for this. All they told him over the phone was that they wanted him to answer direct questions about the function of an RBMK reactor but there he was, a chemist, not even an expert on nuclear reactors, who had been appointed as “the man for the job” as soon as the helicopter dropped him on a place that was nothing short of a warzone.

He shouldn’t be the one taking all those horrible decisions but the government commission that assembled the day they arrived in Chernobyl chose him as their natural leader. Only _he_ knew he wasn’t a leader. He was just a scientist.

“Left or right?” the Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministers repeated.

Valery turned to the sturdy Ukrainian blinking like a deer in headlights. It was still too early to process what was happening, the harsh decisions, the battles they had to win over petty politicians who only had their Party cards in mind, the deliberate lies they had to feed people with in order to avoid chaos and panic – and now this, abandoning their hotel rooms in Pripyat for a two-story house in Chernobyl that was supposedly safer since radiation levels in the abandoned city were already reaching deadly heights. Apparently that house was the only shelter they had - and it didn’t even have enough beds.

“Hmm?” he murmured absent-mindedly. “Left, I guess, I always sleep on the left side.”

“Good,” Boris Shcherbina replied flinging a pillow over the bed’s part that was now designated for Valery. “Left it is.”

The scientist watched Boris turn his back on him as he loosened his tie and tossed it on the mattress like he should have done a thousand times before, with or without someone watching him. Colleagues on business trips, friends, lovers, they should have all witnessed those broad shoulders letting the jacket slide down to his elbows with little effort.

He was graceful without pompousness, Valery pondered as he observed the curve of his hips, even more prominent and eye-catching now that there was no jacket to cover them, black suspenders stretching over his back as he bent over to remove his shoe.

Was Boris Evdokimovich Shcherbina always that laid back, that casual removing his clothes in front of strangers, layer after thick layer?

Valery couldn’t put his finger on the exact moment when his discomfort towards Shcherbina’s arrogance had turned into curiosity, maybe even a little envy. Perhaps he was starting to get used to this unusual bureaucrat; when watching him making phone calls and giving orders he had been fascinated by the way he carried himself among his subordinates as well as his superiors, by his imposing stature, his air of authority. Six-foot-tall, with a taste in clothes that was matched only by his perfectly groomed silver hair - the kind of elegance and luxury an academician like Legasov wasn’t supposed to fancy. People like Boris always baffled him, the excessive confidence they had built over the years, the ambition driving them on top of the food chain, the way they swayed a room full of people to their will. Valery was always repulsed by their shallowness, their vanity, their detachment from the things that truly mattered: science, art, literature, a May Day parade where they could just mingle with the crowd instead of standing on a podium and waving at a multitude of people they’d never get to know.

But Boris was different; there was deep compassion in the blue of his eyes, childlike joy when he waved at those divers coming back alive from what should have been their watery grave, unadulterated Soviet pride. Valery didn’t realize it at first but what mostly fascinated him was how repulsed he was by every other politician he had met, and how Boris was nothing like them. There was beauty in this man and, as tell-tale and shameful as that thought might be, Valery was glad he was the one Boris picked as his roommate.

_“Do you snore?”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“A simple question, do you snore?”_

_“No, wh—”_

_“Perfect, we’ll share a room then, get your things.”_

That’s all he said, that was Boris’ decision-making process; swift, simple, definite.

Valery half smiled at the memory of being picked out of a crowd of more than thirty scientists and officials just because he didn’t snore. Watching the statesman undress he realized that life should be as plain as that giant of a man letting his clothes slip down to his ankles to take a shower without shame or imposed coyness, unshackled from the restrictions of a bankrupt religion.

“If you’re thinking that sharing a bed is too much, you shouldn’t worry,” Boris caught him off guard as he pulled his vest off over his head, “we’ll probably be working on different shifts anyway.”

“I--” Valery nodded forcing a smile, wondering why his heart was suddenly sinking in disappointment. “I see…”

“Besides I can sleep on the floor, all I need is a blanket and a pillow and—”

“No no, it’s quite alright,” Valery cut him off more briskly than propriety would allow. “No need. I fall asleep right away.”

“Are you sure?” Boris cocked a brow as he unbuckled his belt. “I didn’t see you catch any sleep these past few days, unless you call drooling over maps and empty cigarette packs sleeping.”

“I’ll be fine,” Valery reassured him rubbing his eye under the thick lens, “you don’t have to worry about me. It’s solutions that I need, not sleep.”

Boris let out a doubtful chuckle carefully folding his jacket on the back of an armchair. “You won’t be getting any of those any time soon,” he remarked. “Not unless you sleep and clear your mind.”

“That’s the thing, with me it works in reverse,” Valery explained not without a hint of self-sarcasm, “it’s solutions first, sleep second.”

A fond smile grew on Boris’ lips, the only thing that could distract Valery from his naked pecs. He wasn’t exactly fit, he was flabby around the stomach (age and good times had taken their toll on him) but he had muscled arms that made him look like a man who didn’t shy away from exercise when he was younger. Valery’s eyes wandered all over the round-shaped fluff on his belly; it wasn’t just a thin ginger trail like his own, it looked like neatly trimmed grass grown all over the place, circling the navel protectively. Before long, his gaze settled on Boris’ unusually thick and taut, almost feminine nipples.

_“People asking questions, lost in confusion,” _Boris hummed teasingly, pulling Valery out of his fantasy of lips skimming over those warm and round buttons of flesh._ “Well I tell them there’s no problem, only solutions.”_

He wasn’t exactly a songbird (Valery almost laughed at the thought as his daydream melted away), he sounded more like a magpie with a bad cold, but that melody was hard to miss.

“John Lennon?” the scientist said, lighting up at the thought that they might have the same taste in music.

“John Lennon,” Boris confirmed sliding his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs. “Dare I assume you own the LP?” He paused waiting for Valery’s response, his eyes twinkling eagerly. _“‘Double Fantasy’,_ it’s a brilliant album.”

“Oh no. No no,” Valery shook his head, his cheeks turning a lively shade of pink as he let his head fall in embarrassment. “Just a tape I was given by a friend, a compilation. I could never smuggle in an LP with Western music.”

“Huh…” Boris said inspecting him from head to toe, probably wondering if Valery could even afford records from the West. “Well you can have mine as soon as we go back to Moscow. Haven’t played it in a long time anyway.”

“Well I guess I’m…” Valery said raising his head, “I’m-- _Oh.” _

He never got to finish his sentence; Boris had just gotten rid of his briefs and was tossing them on his side of the bed with a light nonchalant gesture.

“Grateful.”

“What?” Valery muttered under his breath. 

“The word you were looking for is _grateful,”_ Boris laughed. “I’m joking. I’m taking a shower, I’ll see you later.”

He disappeared into the bathroom leaving his wide-eyed roommate speechless. Valery took two steps backwards, dumbfounded by the unapologetic nakedness he had just witnessed, until his calves bumped against the mattress and his butt landed on the bed.

As it turned out, Boris did not see him later. When he walked out of the steamy bathroom Valery was already buried under the covers, snoring, asleep.

Or at least pretending to be so.

When stressed, Valery slept like a cat, his nerves getting the best of him and allowing him only short hours of a dreamless slumber in between breaks he took to drink water or take a leak. It was a vicious circle, a mere glass of water leading to the bathroom since he was constantly thirsty, his throat going dry every two or three hours causing him to wake up coughing; one way or another he knew he’d never get a full night’s sleep.

Even when the work awaiting him the following day was too much, even when he woke at 5 a.m. knowing anxiety wouldn’t let him fall asleep again, he’d grab a book from his bedside and read it until the pale light of dawn broke through the shutters. If a problem was nagging him or there was the prospect of the slightest change in his daily routine, he wouldn’t be able to rest until weekend came, and even that was questionable given his responsibilities as first deputy director of the Institute. Maybe his body didn’t let him rest because he didn’t _need_ to rest, he liked to lie to himself, and he had made his peace with that.

That was definitely not one of those nights. For the first time in months his sleep was deep, his dreams unusually salacious, filled with whispers and sensations that crept into parts and crevices he would never dare expose to such intimate, forbidden pleasures. The numerous bodies touching him, electrifying him, were faceless - that or he was blind-folded. He knew that if he tried to open his eyes he’d probably wake up (and God knows he didn’t want this dream to end) but for some reason he was thankfully granted the one thing he yearned for: the face of one of his “tormentors”. The naked middle-aged man kneeling in front of him, mouth wrapped around a member that was painfully pumping with seed, lifted his head to gaze at him with glistening lips. Even when the dripping cock slid out of his mouth, his lips kept dragging up and down Valery’s shaft, a trail of spit slicking pulsing veins. Valery lost his breath at the sight of that dark unfathomable stare as he grasped at thick gray hair, demanding more. That wasn’t a faceless body anymore sending him to the deepest ends of his mind’s abyss, that was--

_boris_

The whispered, sensual word escaping his numb lips was enough to pull him out of his dream. His eyes snapped open to pitch-black darkness, his breathing heavier than he would have expected on a night when he should have stayed awake, taking decisions over an ashtray full of crushed cigarette butts. Like a man fearing embarrassment more than death, he fumbled his briefs where the fabric was tighter than when he crawled under the covers a couple of hours ago, shutting his eyes closed before he had to face Boris’ nudity coming out of a cloud of steam. He let out a sigh of relief when his fingers traced nothing but dry cloth, even if he was still furiously erect as his night-time vision lingered on, taunting him with its vividness.

As consciousness gradually took over every member of his body, he came to acknowledge the cause of his arousal: the beautiful gray-haired man of his dreams was curled up with his back against his stomach, sinful naked hips nestling in his groin, one foot resting leisurely between his ankles. Valery tried to move but his arm was trapped underneath the pillow where Boris’ head was laying. The man had made himself at home in Valery’s arms even if that was just his usual posture, taking over any bed he slept on, vacant or not.

As if welcoming the hardness nudging against his buttocks, Boris wiggled into it smacking his lips sleepily. Valery sucked in a gasp at the unexpected friction. He couldn’t decide if it was a dream or a nightmare having Boris’ nudity heartlessly tease him in the middle of the night.

He pulled his arm from underneath the heavy pillow with as much discretion as he could and turned the bedside lamp on to put on his glasses. Drawing in breath after shaky breath, he glanced at his unwanted stiffness, a misfortune that hadn’t happened to him since university. He had dreamt of other people before (his classmates, a kind professor who had graced him with more time and smiles than was acceptable), but on those occasions Valery had always been blissfully alone and able to take care of his “malfunction” in private. This time he had nowhere to go, even the bathroom at the other end of the corridor seemed miles away and he was afraid that jumping off the mattress would wake up Boris anyway.

It just had to be done, he had to finish himself right there and hope that the naked man sleeping soundly next to him wouldn’t wake up to see him come in spasms.

Valery let out a deep ragged sigh slipping a hand into his briefs to free himself from his waistband. Imagining Boris where his hand should be, he made tiny circles over his slit with his thumb, biting down his lip to smother the small surprised noises that even he didn’t know he could make.

But It was _so good, _it was better than the dream, fisting his member while Boris, blissfully ignorant, was sleeping next to him, simmering him with his nudity. He would touch his tantalizing softness if he dared, rub his tip down his crack, just enough to feel his warmth and leave a thin wet line, marking him in secret. He moaned at the thought of fucking a sleeping man.

Ready to frig himself to completion (maybe a bit too ready, he thought blushing), he tugged his underwear down to his ankles, removing it with his toes. With the thought of Boris’s warmth engulfing him (mouth or ass, he honestly didn’t care), he wrapped two fingers around his girth tugging his foreskin over the head, pulling and pulling and _pulling_ until it was dripping with precum.

He choked out a half-satisfied gasp. He knew he had to stay quiet but the sensation of his frail skin being yanked and stretched was intoxicating.

_“Oh…”_

For one crazy moment he wished Boris could see him, wake up in the middle of the night to watch him jerk himself relentlessly until his cum spurted all over the sheets like hot cream.

_lick me dry, Boris – fuck -- _

Valery was so lost in his fist’s furious jerks that he didn’t realize his thoughts had turned to words that were breathed out through gasps and whimpers, causing Boris to roll on his back and still on his pillow, eyes roving around behind closed lids.

Valery huffed out a breath of relief: thank God the object of his lewd fantasy was still dreaming.

He took to pleasuring himself again with added fervour. He had to finish the task urgently or Boris would wake up to find him covered in his own seed and the prospect seemed more stressful than pleasant. With twitching hands he tried to eliminate the slapping noises of skin against skin but that only made his breathing sharper and shorter, beads of sweat breaking on his furrowed brow now that he had a new pace to stimulate himself.

The effort was exhausting, and so was the fear of being caught red-handed. He let out a sigh sliding his eyes closed; perhaps rubbing a couple of fingers into his hole would push him over the edge quicker.

He slipped two digits into his mouth sucking on them as if it was Boris’ growth he was swirling his tongue around, shoving them deeper and deeper into his throat, testing his own depth for Boris, only Boris. He moaned as he imagined the other man’s meat stretching his lips, his closed eyes shutting out reality. He was thankful that Boris’ new position was leaving him enough space to buck his hips into his fist even if the bouncing of the mattress threatened to expose him irredeemably to the deputy minister. He spread his thighs open lifting his knees just enough to give room to slick fingers to trace his rim.

Oh it was heaven.

He had never defiled himself like that before. He knew of friends who had tried it and they always said it was more satisfying than just jacking themselves. It was a sin, it was taboo, men weren’t supposed to fuck themselves like that.

Yet there he was breaching his own walls, fingering his entrance shamelessly, tight muscles sending jolts of delight up his spine. He was loving it, every audacious inch that he shoved into himself, every—

_Oh_

_B-Boris, I’m--_

In a moment of spontaneous boldness he opened his eyes to stare at the dark ceiling, teeth biting down a lip that could hardly smother his needy moans anymore. The devastating wave of his climax was only a couple of jerks away when he felt thick fingers crawling up his thigh.

He froze.

After a few seconds of pure horror he turned to confront what he was sure would make him die of shame; Boris had rolled to his side, eyes shining in the half light, but he wasn’t even looking at his face that was now white as a sheet: his gaze had trailed down to Valery’s growth that was casting an impertinent shadow over his freckled abdomen, his heavy hand resting mere inches beneath it. A couple of deep sighs escaped him as he blinked hungrily at Valery’s member and his hand crept up a milky white thigh, his thick fingertips teasing, tracing, fingering the roundness of his balls.

“You’re not doing this right,” he breathed swallowing hard, never breaking the kneading into soft flesh. “You need lube.”

“I need—” Valery panted. _“What…?”_

“Lubricant,” Boris explained circling two fingers around Valery’s crown, tugging up and down his skin as casually as stirring coffee with a spoon before going to work. “Don’t you know anything?”

Leaving Valery’s erection twitching with need, he rolled to the other side of the bed and opened a drawer to bring out his necessaire. He searched its contents in the dark until he found the precious little jar; he unscrewed it and dipped two fingers into the oily substance. It looked like translucent butter as he smeared it all over his palms.

“Is this--?”

“Vaseline,” Boris nodded. “For my hands when it gets cold.”

Valery skimmed the sticky surface with his finger and brought it to his nose. “It smells good…”

“It feels even better,” Boris rasped, his voice hoarse with such deep longing that took Valery by surprise. “Open your legs.”

His commanding tone made Valery lose all capacity for coherent thought. His filthiest dream and worst nightmare was now staring into his eyes, on that unfamiliar bed, ordering him around. He could still get up and leave, he reckoned numbly, sleep on the couch, in the bathtub, in the dog’s house. Anywhere but here.

Instead of a protest his trembling jaw allowed a whine of an excuse. “I’m—I—”

Boris arched a brow, mocking, defiant. “I said open. Your _legs.”_

Valery sensed there was no escaping this man, the burning desire in his eyes, his imposing presence. Perhaps he didn’t know Boris so well after all. Perhaps he was still dreaming.

He sprawled out his knees on the mattress like an infant waiting to be rubbed with baby powder and noticed Boris’ face soften at the sight of his compliance. Or maybe he was getting harder watching Valery’s crack open up for him.

Boris carefully placed his hands on plump thighs spreading them further and, without a warning, dipped his head between Valery’s cheeks breathing in his sweaty scent, his nose rubbing hungrily into the fluff of his sac. Valery huffed out a gasp, mad with want as Boris’ aggressive tongue teased and filled his rim. Boris didn’t just lap around the hole or wait for it to loosen up, he fucked _into_ it pushing through virgin muscles, reaching for that bundle of nerves that would soon have Valery squirming and begging and pumping out rivers of hot spend.

Valery cried out, instantly muffling his shock with his fist. “Boris, _fuck!—"_

In and out, in and out - a maddening pace that made him realize, his cock jerking at the thought, that the fingering had been postponed simply because the other man was hungry for him. For his taste.

“Do you like that, Legasov?” Boris ghosted a hot breath over his opening that was now glazed with drops of his own precum - he was _that_ desperate to be touched. “Do you like my tongue flicking in and out of your puckered little cunt?”

“Y-yes…” Valery stuttered arching his back, begging for more, for _everything._

“Do you want my fingers inside you?” Boris rasped. “Does your greedy hole want that?”

“Yes, Boris, please, I –”

Valery felt Boris’ chuckle brush across his shivering skin and spasmed around the lubricated finger that was now pushing into his entrance. For all his craving for a quick release, his untouched body was reacting to the intrusion, his muscles clenching defensively, until Boris talked again.

“You must breathe,” he whispered peppering Valery’s hardened member with licks and kisses, his tongue torturously dragging through each fold to find new untouched flesh to feast on. “And I need to know you can take this.”

Valery could do nothing but nod; swiping his tongue over dry lips he reached down to circle and stretch his hole leaving no doubt as to which part of his body he wanted Boris to focus on. To make himself clearer, he lapped at his palm and slicked his shaft with his own spit, rubbing up and down to bring himself to full hardness again.

Boris hummed in response as his own arousal peaked proudly between long thighs and wrapped his fingers around Valery’s pulsing rod, his other hand massaging into the delicate flesh of his sac.

“You’re about to burst, aren’t you…” he breathed, eyes glazed with delight, and brought his hand to his own cock twisting his wrist with every slow upward move. “You’ll be a good boy now,” he said rubbing calculated circles into Valery’s perineum with his thumb, “you’ll come for me, yes?”

Valery was writhing and thrashing on the bed as he drowned in the new sensations Boris had introduced him to. The man knew exactly when to squeeze and when to let go; with every rub he reached Valery’s aching tip and squeezed harder and harder as his Vaseline-coated fingers drove deeper into his center, sliding smoothly into him, probing at his prostate.

“Oh you’re doing good, Legasov,” he sighed, a knowing grin blooming across his flustered face, “look at you, filled to the brim.”

Valery almost spilled hearing Boris’ praise and hoped his long desperate moan wasn’t heard through a house full of sleeping scientists.

“You can be loud, as loud as you want,” Boris urged him covering his mouth with his massive palm and, adding to the sweet torment, quickened the pace.

It was fast, it was filthy, it was pushing Valery over the brink of sanity. Boris tightened the circle around his cock and gave him the jerk of a lifetime, drops of sweat slipping down his silver temples as he kept his gaze fixed on the scientist’s flickering eyes and on his own hand that was smothering desperate, almost childlike whimpers.

“Give me all your load, Valery, that’s it… that’s— oh fuck _theeere_ you go--”

Boris squeezed hard once, twice, and Valery was helplessly pumping thick strings of spend all over his fist with a throaty muffled cry that vibrated through Boris’ fingers. Delirious senseless words, Boris’ name among them, weakened to soft whispers until there was no breath left in Valery, his eyes losing focus as violent spasms swept through his body.

“Oh you did good, you did _so_ good…” Boris sighed in his ear as the last drops of hot seed trickled down his hand, gently letting go as if he knew exactly when his touch was becoming more of a burden than a source of joy.

Valery was left alone on the bed, blinking as if he had just woken from the most incredible fantasy, huffing out breath after shaky breath.

“You kept quite a load in there,” Boris said pulling a box of tissues from the drawer to wipe his hand before passing it to Valery.

Valery didn’t know if the remark was meant to tease or praise but as the pleasure gave way to the realization that he was half naked and sticky in front of the deputy minister, he suddenly felt too embarrassed for words. He pulled a bunch of tissues from the box and dried himself as best as he could, fearing that visiting the bathroom in the middle of the night might raise quite a few eyebrows. Even worse, someone might be walking the corridor and notice that beet-red face of his.

While wiping himself he noticed from the corner of his eye Boris’ lazy repetitive move as his fist moved up and down between naked thighs, watching him; he had started stroking himself again and was now fully erect.

“Are you… alright?” Valery asked with some hesitance, wary of being indiscreet even if he had just been savagely deflowered by Boris’ hand.

“I… will be,” Boris panted softly with a wicked glint in his eye. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, Legasov.”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to--?” Valery’s voice trailed off.

Boris looked deep into his eyes as if wondering if he meant what he said and his handsome smile broadened. “You like trouble, don’t you,” he said.

It was more of a realization than a genuine question.

Valery felt Boris’ fingers on his wrist, steady, firm, pulling him lower. He had never touched another man before, he had never felt the rush that came from feeling a stranger’s virility in his palm, his strength, his utmost vulnerability. It was making him lose his breath, the proximity to that blushing piece of flesh, the sight of that most exquisite manhood stretching and pulsing to full hardness in his hand, _their_ hands, since Boris Shcherbina –

_Boris_

\- was practically teaching him how to touch him, pleasure him, fucking into his fist with whines and groans and deep shaky breaths.

“You’re doing good, you’re doing g—_aaah--_” Boris whimpered dragging his weathered palm over Valery’s shoulders, sliding it under his vest to stroke freckled skin until he settled on the nape of his neck, pressing and kneading just enough to let Valery know he needed something else, something _more._

Valery raised his eyes to meet Boris’. For all his assertiveness the politician didn’t seem ready to force his roommate into new paths to bliss; still, his eyes were gleaming with hope and greed, searching Valery’s face for the slightest hint of compliance.

“Do you—”

Valery couldn’t finish his suggestion. He felt awkward asking for permission for every new thing he wanted to do to Boris and he surely didn’t want to show him he was starving.

Starving for his touch, his long moans, his thick white essence down his throat.

Starving to make him come like no man had ever done before.

As if waiting for the most inopportune moment, doubt crept into his thoughts: he wasn’t the first man Boris had. He couldn’t be.

Valery reckoned, not without some bitterness, that it wasn’t fair, _he_ had no one else before. He always imagined his first time to be glorious, unique for both parties. Maybe he was being irrationally selfish and insecure, he thought as Boris’ eyes flickered shut, his breathing growing heavier and heavier, but he had to know he wasn’t just giving Gorbachev’s right-hand man a quick job to relieve him from stress.

Boris opened his eyes again questioning the delay with slightly furrowed brows. He took a beat contemplating Valery’s face, reading into it what his trembling lip was so desperately struggling to say. Instead of answering the silent question, he pulled Valery into a hungry kiss, drowning his fears and doubts with possessive laps into his depth until Valery could do nothing but moan and keen into his mouth, his hand curling around Boris’ girth with renewed enthusiasm.

“You can take your time,” Boris cooed as he ran the tip of his tongue over the folds of his neck, “I can take it. I can wait until you’re ready.”

“No no, I—” Valery stuttered and squeezed Boris reflexively drawing a pained yelp out of him.

_“AH!_–not so… tight,” Boris winced, then laughed, stopping Valery’s exceeding enthusiasm with his grip. “Maybe you would like to—”

“Take you into my mouth?”

The words were blurted out with such improper enthusiasm, Valery realized, that he would never be able to retain his respectability as a scientist again, at least not in front of Boris; but it was too late to be shy. Boris had jerked and fingered him without asking permission. Boris had sealed their intimate moment with a deep kiss. Boris was too giving. The least Valery could do was return the favour.

“Would you?” Boris said, his fingertips teasing the fluff at the base of Valery’s neck, circling the sensitive skin until Valery’s own member started stirring again.

He had to give in, doubts be damned.

He let Boris push him down with each encouraging stroke of his thumb, skin crawling with anticipation at his firm, commanding touch. He felt awe combined with a twinge of fear when his face was mere inches from Boris’ cock; it was massive, it was bigger than his own and he realized he could barely wrap his palm around its thickness. He imagined himself choking on it and making a fool of himself when he felt fingers threading through his hair while Boris’ swollen head probed at his lips.

Valery let go of the nagging sensation that came between him and that intoxicating moment, giving in to the thrill of having Boris’ manhood so close to his mouth; it was beautiful, with thick veins running down its length and its crimson head glossed over by milky pearls of cum. He dragged the tip of his tongue from base to crown drawing a grunt from Boris’ lips.

“Uh…”

“Do you like that?” Valery breathed. “Do you like me tasting you?”

It was hard to believe he had just uttered such filth.

“Y-yes…” Boris huffed. “Yes. Yes.” He tugged at Valery’s head fisting large tufts of hair. “Yes, keep doing that, Legasov, _fuck.”_

Valery gave him another flat-tongued lap that reached up to his slit but barely touched it. Another lick, another groan. He knew he could torture that man forever and wondered how long it would take for Boris to take the matter into his own hands – but Boris didn’t react, didn’t demand. Apparently he was too overwhelmed by Valery’s teasing to have any objections. As he would later say, “You’re a man full of surprises, Legasov”.

Valery rolled his tongue around Boris’ growth like it was candy and that gave him an idea: with an upward yank he dragged the foreskin over the tip and sucked on that thin piece of flesh, nipping at it and drinking in Boris’ shocked gasps.

“Oh you’re good at this, how did you know—”

Valery didn’t let him finish; he took his testicles, perfectly shaved balls of flesh, into his mouth and sucked and sucked, swiping his tongue over the seam and relishing the exact moment when they clenched, wrinkling, ready to burst. Boris clutched the pillows and moaned like a virgin, thrusting his hips into Valery’s mouth, desperate for release.

Lifting his eyes to watch him come undone, Valery reached for Boris’ thick nipple, that pink perky button that was taunting him just a few hours ago, and for that he was rewarded with ecstatic little sobs. He let Boris’ testicles slide out of his mouth, strings of spit running down his chin, and took the whole length of him so deep that Boris groaned like an animal, grabbing his head, holding him down as he ground into him with fervent thrusts. Valery, unused to such violence, coughed around his cock, a fact that made Boris give a selfish satisfied moan, but didn’t stop bobbing his head up and down until the other man was crying out his name, holding him in place with both hands.

Valery sucked him mercilessly, his own moan vibrating through Boris’ leaking member as his sucks got faster and faster, fierce, unstoppable; he would make him come like he had never come before, he would drink him, swallow him, make him remember him. He _had to._ Boris was his now, Boris would--

“Valera… Valera… _AH--”_

Valery almost choked; Boris’ stream of cum was so rich and powerful that it flooded his mouth with only a couple of jerks. He gulped down most of it drowning in its saltiness, letting it slide down his throat as he had imagined he would. He didn’t know if anyone had done that to Boris before, and he didn’t care. Boris was marking him with his seed and was being marked in return. They had shared moments, fluids, they had shared cries of ecstasy.

Boris was still pumping out thick droplets of spend, some of it landing on Valery’s glasses, when he grabbed him by the vest to pull him up to his lips; Valery knew, as Boris’ groaned around his tongue, that he wasn’t just tasting himself in him – he was stifling the last sobs of his orgasm, wary of the sleeping inhabitants of the house.

_Clever man._

It wasn’t long before Boris had licked him clean of all traces of his load on his lips, his cheeks, his nose. Still, the kiss went on and on in silence, Boris’ hot breathing giving him life as their tongues darted out to lap at each other like hungry beasts.

Boris pulled back and palmed his cheek, holding him still against his forehead. “Valera…”

The repeated use of that long-forgotten nickname didn’t get lost on Valery; nobody had called him Valera since childhood. He was professor Legasov to his students, academician Legasov to the press, Valery Alexeyevich to his friends, the few that he had.

But to Boris he was Valera. Only Valera.

“You have a talent for this, haven’t you,” Boris kissed the words into his lips.

“For what…”

It had returned, the nagging suspicion that he was only there to please the Deputy Minister.

“Making people happy,” Boris answered.

Valery, unfamiliar with the kindness of strangers, was finding the words hard to believe.

“No,” he shook his head. “Not _people._ Not everyone.”

There it was, his confession, his demand. If Boris didn’t like it, he might as well get up and sleep on the couch, on the floor, in the doghouse - Valery honestly didn’t care. They were both grown men, the sooner they had laid out their terms, the better. Valery would rather spend his days alone than be lied to; he was too old, too sick of lies.

For a moment Boris seemed startled at the unexpected confession but for all his surprise, he didn’t avert his eyes from that hard, unblinking stare.

“Not everyone makes _me_ happy,” he stated firmly, knitting an almost offended brow at Valery’s hasty conclusions. “There’s a reason why I chose you for my roommate. And not just because you didn’t snore.”

Valery’s eyes widened at the memory of the dialogue that had brought them together on that bed, jacking and sucking the life out of each other.

_You scheming. Bastard._

A chuckle, a giggle, and suddenly Boris’ booming laughter was filling the room; he grabbed Valery’s hand and squeezed it into the mattress reassuringly as his shoulders shook with every chortle.

_If I’m a scheming bastard, you’re an absolute idiot._

No more words, no more misunderstandings, no lies. Only laughter. They were laughing together like children, happy, relieved.

Valery let his head drop and pushed his glasses back on his nose.

“Just when I thought you were the clever one,” Boris said between pants and chuckles, “I mean, didn’t you see right through me, walking around naked--”

“Oh don’t let these glasses fool you,” Valery retorted adjusting the spectacles on his face.

“Here, let me…” Boris offered pulling them off gently to wipe them with a tissue.

“It needs water now,” Valery suggested pointing at the white drops that had smeared the glass.

“Oh I bet it needs water, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Boris joked.

He paused noticing Valery’s meaningful stare; the scientist almost flinched, embarrassed, instantly looking away. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms across his chest, pretending he didn’t see a double meaning in Boris’ words.

“I said,” Boris repeated, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Valery coughed into his fist looking for a reason to be unhappy. If he was worried about something, everyone else should be worried with him.

Besides it was always easier to live without hope.

“There’s a problem though,” he muttered.

“What?”

He made a horizontal circle in the air with his finger. “Everyone else. People watching us. The secret police.”

Boris let his hands drop on his lap with a troubled, disheartened pout but there was only so much Valery could do to keep happiness out of that room.

He turned to Valery brushing a thumb over his lip and planted a kiss where his finger was, nibbling at it.

“There’s no problem,” he said eventually beaming with confidence.

His smile was calm and peaceful filling Valery’s loins with something bigger, stronger than lust. Giving him hope where there was none, because hope needs one factor only: a future.

“Only solutions.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah writing. I don't know how people do it. Finishing something, it's just... crazy. It's killing me, how hard it is.


End file.
